The Dark Ages of the Sea
by lilacmermaid33
Summary: As the second year of News Night draws to a close, Mac begins behaving strangely. Can Will get to the bottom of it, or is he about to lose Mackenzie for good? (AU after season one).
1. Chapter 1

On the night of the 2012 State of the Union address, Will asked Mackenzie to join him for a drink at Hang Chew's, to celebrate yet another successful broadcast.

It was nothing they hadn't done a hundred times recently, and Will was looking forward to putting his feet up for the first time all day, finding a secluded corner and relaxing with a cold beer and his best friend. Elliott had told him a funny story just before they went off the air, and ever since, Will had been anticipating the moment when he could share it with Mackenzie, who always provided the most eager and satisfying audience for a good laugh.

Only, not tonight.

Mac listened to Will for a while at first, but it wasn't long before he noticed that she was gazing past him out the darkened window, her eyes glazing over. He trailed off uncertainly, which temporarily dragged her attention back to him, but the same thing happened again and again, tearing into his eternally fragile ego. Each time Mac stopped listening, Will had to work desperately to tamp down on the growing mountain of anxiety that was welling up inside of him.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, nudging her foot with his, when she zoned out of their conversation for a third time, toying absently with the rim of her wine glass. He was only half-joking.

It should have been an unremarkable night, just another drink shared between friends, and yet it felt uncomfortably to Will as though something were changing.

The weeks following the American Taliban broadcast had been tense and uncomfortable, filled with dozens of credible new death threats, and Mac badgering him constantly, trying to find out the contents of the voicemail that she would never hear.

Soon enough, however, things had calmed down, and when they did, all Will could think of was how _nice_ it had been, sitting together with Mackenzie in his office all that week, their heads huddled together over the rundown. They had ordered Chinese food for sustenance one night, and he chuckled at the memory of Mac animatedly waving her chopsticks at him to make her point while they debated the relative merits of a soundbyte from Mitt Romney versus one from John McCain.

Mac got her way in the end. She usually did when it came to these things; she just had a sixth sense about the right way to put a compelling broadcast together, so that it felt like a work of art. Will would never tell her this, but he usually just argued with her so he could watch her get flustered and indignant and passionate about the whole political process.

Yes, that had been a good day, a good week, and Will was determined to repeat the experience as often as possible.

Over countless dinners shared over the next several months, Will and Mac rekindled their friendship, rediscovering a closeness that neither of them thought they would ever find again.

Every day, Will wondered what it would be like if they could take things back to the next level, if he could just forget Brian, and tell Mac that he had forgiven her once and for all, but a worried voice in the back of his mind stopped him every time. Life was so good now – not perfect, by any means, but certainly the best it had been in years. Who knew what would happen if he decided to rock the boat? No, far better to keep things as they were. However Mac really felt about it all, she never pushed him, never said a word.

So why the swarm of angry butterflies in his stomach, why the tightness in his chest? Why the sudden feeling of looming dread, the sense of déjà vu?

If Will was honest with himself, there had been something niggling uneasily at the edge of his consciousness for weeks now, maybe even months, though he hadn't wanted to see it. But the feeling had never been so persistent as it was tonight, buzzing around his ears like an invisible mosquito as he watched Mac lean her head back against her chair, her eyes threatening to flutter shut.

Mac jerked when he nudged her, almost spilling her drink. "What the – oh!" she groaned, her brain catching up with his words. "Will, I'm so sorry," she said, sounding genuinely apologetic as she ran one hand through her hair. "Can I take a rain check? I'm afraid I'm not very good company tonight. I'm just so tired."

"Is everything alright?" he asked at once, failing to keep the anxiety from his voice.

Mac assured him that all was well, but wasted no time in swiftly gathering up her purse and making her exit. She offered him a rueful smile, promised to see him at work the following day, and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze as she passed.

Will swallowed the rest of his drink in one shot, but it didn't help him to calm his nerves.

Lying sleeplessly in bed that night, Will couldn't help but think that tonight had felt painfully similar to another they had spent together, just before it had all gone up in smoke. Mac had been faraway and distracted then too, before she confessed, in a voice as dry as sandpaper, that the two best years of his life were over.

ooo

In the weeks that followed, Will read boredom and preoccupation in Mac's every word and gesture.

It began the very next morning, when Mac apologized once more for abandoning him, but before Will could even finish formulating a reply, Jim appeared, and promptly pulled her away to deal with some problem with one of the interns. To Will's despairing eyes, she seemed only too glad to go, his unanswered question echoing in her wake.

She was always busy these days, it seemed. She had chosen this precise moment to bestow more responsibility on Jim, even having him take over in Will's ear for a segment or two each night.

Will questioned her about it while they were waiting by the elevators at the end of a long day, making no secret of the fact that Jim's was not the voice he wanted to hear when he went on the air. Mac had been resting her head against the wall, her eyes closed, and she lifted it tiredly, feeding Will some line about it being high time that Jim was given more experience.

Will was certain that there was more to it than that, but the frightened part of him that fretted constantly about being abandoned wanted to keep his head firmly buried in the sand for as long as he could, so he let the matter drop.

Gone were the days when the two of them would have dinner together two or three times a week; she was simply so tired at the end of the day, she said, that she went home and crawled straight into bed.

She could still be persuaded to have coffee with him most days – she could hardly refuse when he bought it for her himself and brought it to her office, sitting himself down across from her while she drank it. But even then, he rarely had her full attention any more, her eyes always breaking away from his, drifting pensively over to the calendar on her desk, her brow furrowing more deeply with every day that passed.

Worse still was the nighttime, when Will's imagination was allowed to go, unchecked, into overdrive. Every night, his stomach churning, his brilliant mind reinterpreted every moment they had shared since last summer, and the outcome never went in his favour. Again and again, he saw her trying to delicately extract herself from his needy company.

A dozen times a day, Will wanted to march into Mackenzie's office and demand to know whether she was bored with him, bored with News Night, whether she was planning on resigning as executive producer. Day after day, the only thing that held him back was the paralyzing fear that she was going to tell him, "_Yes_."

One day in mid-February, Will had just about worked up the courage to confront Mac about it, but before he could knock on her door, he realized that she was on the phone.

"I _know_," Mac muttered irritably, like she did when she had already had the same conversation a thousand times before. "It's all arranged, I promise. I've got a meeting after the show tonight to go over the details."

His heart lodged firmly in his mouth, Will hurried back to his office before anyone could see him loitering by her door.

_She's leaving ACN_, he thought, certain that he was about to be violently ill. _She's been offered something better, and she's just waiting until the last possible minute to tell me she's leaving me_.

For the rest of the day, Will wavered between wanting to plant himself in the doorway to Mac's office, refusing to budge until she told him what was going on, and being physically incapable of looking her in the eye, lest her gaze tell him something he really didn't want to know after all.

By the end of the broadcast that night, Will had just about made his mind up to seek her out, but coming out of the studio, he was just in time to see her disappear into the elevator, arm in arm with Charlie.

Will waited around in the newsroom for her for at least an hour, but Mac did not return.

ooo

Will went to work early the next morning, resolving to learn the truth once and for all.

He arrived in the newsroom before any of the staffers started their days, and settled himself in Mac's office, determined to catch her alone before she could think up some reason to escape.

He waited half an hour, until well after Mac usually arrived for the day, but she did not appear. Sighing with frustration, Will trudged to his own office, and nearly jumped out of his skin when he shut the door behind him, only to find Mac sitting there in the darkness.

"What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, trying to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

"You were trying to ambush _me_ just now, weren't you?" she asked calmly. "You've been watching my every move for weeks."

"Mac, what's going on?" Will asked, his whole body suddenly tired and heavy, exasperation and terror warring within him.

"I'm taking a bit of a holiday, that's all," Mac said simply. "Super Tuesday will my last show for a month."

Will gaped at her. "A month?" he demanded, too stupefied to be relieved that she was, apparently, not quitting altogether. "What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

"Will, this is not a big deal," she replied, visibly summoning all of her patience, as if dealing with a particularly troublesome child. "Jim's been doing a fine job in my place lately, and I'll be back before you know it."

"If it's not a big deal, then why were you sitting here in the dark, waiting to break it to me like this?" Will demanded petulantly.

"Because I knew you'd take it badly," Mac replied wryly. "And here you are."

"I'm not taking it badly," Will argued. "I just don't understand why—"

"Aren't I entitled to four weeks holidays a year, the same as you?" Mac interrupted him.

"Of course you're entitled," Will shot back. "But you've never actually _taken_ them. You've never been able to stay out of your control room for more than three days at a time unless you were sick, and even then—" he broke off, his heart thudding to a halt. "You're not sick, are you?" he asked in horror, bile rising in the back of his throat.

"I'm not sick, Will," Mac reassured him tiredly. "I'm just taking a vacation. Now, I'm going back to my office – some of us have work to do."

But a sick feeling was already pooling in the pit of his stomach, and it was a long time before Will was able to turn on his computer that morning.

ooo

The next two weeks were an exercise in torture for Will.

_You idiot,_ Will lambasted himself over and over again. _She told you she was tired. Mackenzie is never tired – why didn't you listen? Why didn't you realize that something was wrong? Why do you always assume it's about you?_

Will's agony was compounded by the fact that Mac patently refused to discuss the matter with him, cutting him off and sending him back to his office with a stern and exhausted glare each time he tried to bring it up. He quickly learned to hold his tongue, petrified that causing her any additional stress would only make her feel worse, but it was killing him to just stand by silently and watch her deteriorate before his very eyes.

Countless times a day, he watched her sneak off to the washroom to splash cold water on her face, though its effects never seemed to last very long; up close, her skin had begun to look as dry and frail as tissue paper. Her voice, normally so light and musical to his ears, had become a weak and unrecognizable rasp.

She had taken to massaging her temples whenever she thought no one was looking, though Will always had one worried eye on her these days. Finally, at the beginning of her last week, someone else began to take notice.

"Mac, are you okay?" Maggie asked suddenly, in the middle of a rundown meeting.

Will could have hugged her.

Not that it was going to make one bit of difference if Mac decided to deny it, but finally, _finally_ he wasn't alone in realizing that something was amiss.

"I'm fine," Mac insisted, but Will was relieved to see that the team kept whispering about her long after the meeting was over, and that someone other than him had dared to ask the question when he couldn't.

By the end of the two weeks, she scarcely had the energy to make her way to and from the control room at the end of the night.

ooo

By the night of the Super Tuesday broadcast, Will couldn't take it any longer.

He had convinced himself by now that Mac had been diagnosed with some incurable form of cancer, that she was planning on going away and living out her last weeks somewhere quiet and warm without telling a soul. He had lain awake all night, half-crazed with the fear that he was going to lose Mackenzie before they even had another chance.

"Are you _sure_ everything's okay?" he burst out anxiously, throwing caution to the wind and catching Mac by the elbow, dragging her into a corner where they could talk privately. "You'd tell me if you were really sick, wouldn't you?"

Thankfully, Mac was too tired these days to get truly angry, or perhaps she saw the terror in Will's eyes, because she made no effort to escape him this time, her eyes filling with compassion. "Of _course_, Will," Mac promised, squeezing his arm sympathetically. "Please stop worrying, you're making yourself sick over nothing."

But no amount of soothing words from Mackenzie could convince Will that she wasn't just trying to protect him from the truth, whatever that was, and he vowed to make one last attempt to get it out of her after the show.

Somehow, despite his agitation and a major broadcast that he couldn't have cared less about, Will got through the night without a hitch, but after that he was out of luck. When he dashed back out of the studio after the show, the lights in her office were off.

Mac was already gone.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thank you so much for reading! I really struggled with getting this one right, and I'm still probably going to have to rewrite some of it later, but I desperately wanted to get the first chapter posted before the premiere, so here you have it! Now I don't have to worry about whatever Sorkin decides to throw at us!

Thanks to **iworkwithpens** for taking a look at an earlier, much worse draft of this!

I flatter myself that you won't be able to guess where I'm going with this one, but if you think you know, could I PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE ask that you PM me, rather than posting it in a public review? I'd really like to keep this one a surprise, if I can!


	2. Chapter 2

Will texted Mackenzie when he got home that night. Nothing incriminating – between the TMI fiasco and Mac's chronic inability to keep their private lives private, he had learned to be a little more circumspect.

**Have a great vacation**, was all he wrote. **You deserve it**.

It was a safe message, and a friendly one, but Will's motives weren't entirely altruistic. Over the course of the next several hours, he anxiously checked his phone every few minutes, to be sure he hadn't missed Mackenzie's reply.

By 3:00, long past the time he should have gone to bed, Mac had still not responded, and Will had worked himself up into a panic. He itched to call her, to hear her voice, to beg her to reassure him just one more time, but he managed to stop himself, twice hanging up halfway through dialing her number. Harnessing what little restraint he possessed, Will climbed into bed, his Blackberry perched precariously on the edge of the nightstand, just inches from his ear.

Yes, they had both been known to call each other at all hours of the night, but not recently, not since she'd begun to pull away from him. Will knew she wouldn't thank him for disturbing her sleep tonight, just because he couldn't keep his paranoid mind from racing, and imagining the worst.

_She told you she was fine_, he repeated, reminding himself over and over again that he needed to keep breathing. _She _promised_ you. She's been so exhausted lately, she probably just crashed as soon as she got home. She probably didn't even hear the phone._

Trying so hard to believe her, to convince himself that she wouldn't lie right to his face about something this important, Will's eyes fell shut at last, just before the sun came up. Conjuring up an image of Mac on the other side of town, lying spread-eagle on top of the sheets, too tired even to remove her shoes, was the only thing that allowed Will to get any relief that night.

ooo

The next morning was little better.

Shouldering more of the workload in Mackenzie's absence, Will dragged himself into the office earlier than normal, bloodshot and bleary-eyed, and threw himself into putting together a show his executive producer would be proud of.

He tried not to look at the clock.

He had given her plenty of time, he reasoned. He even granted that she might have slept straight through until noon if she was so tired, a luxury he couldn't remember Mac _ever_ allowing herself. But when he still hadn't heard from her by lunchtime, Will's steadily creeping anxiety ratcheted straight up into the stratosphere.

Mackenzie McHale was a woman who was born to be a journalist. She probably had that innate drive and determination and curiosity well before she even learned to speak. And a journalist and her telephone are pretty well joined at the hip. It was simply inconceivable that Mac should have gone this long without checking her messages.

His phone already in hand, Will couldn't even wait until he was out of the morning pitch meeting before dialing Mackenzie's number, but by the time he reached his office, the phone had already rung four times, and gone to her voicemail.

He gave her five minutes, on the off chance she had been in the shower when he called, firing off an email in the meantime for good measure, but after that he could do nothing but glare out the window, ready to scream at the next person who crossed his path.

Through the glass, he caught sight of Charlie in conversation with Don and Elliott, but heading his way, and his stomach twisted painfully. For the first time in Will's life, the sight of Charlie Skinner's presence, prowling around the newsroom, was anything but a comfort. Will's blood began to boil whenever he so much as looked at his boss, so he spent the rest of the day carefully avoiding his gaze whenever possible, faking important phone calls and pretending to be incredibly busy whenever Charlie seemed about to approach him.

_She confided in him_, Will thought bitterly. _Mackenzie told Charlie, but she wouldn't tell me._

Between his anxiety over Mac and his anger towards his mentor, Will was a mess on the air that night, fumbling through the broadcast in a way that would have made Mac ashamed of him if she had been there to witness it. But Will couldn't think about that now, too preoccupied with all kinds of wild theories and explanations for her actions, each one less plausible than the last.

_Maybe she lost her phone_, Will thought desperately. _Or the battery's dead, and she's forgotten to charge it. Why didn't you try calling her at home hours ago?_

The only reason the show wasn't a complete disaster that night was a credit to Jim, who really was as good at his job as Mac was always saying. Racing back to his office after the broadcast, dialing her landline as he went, Will spared a brief thought for the young man, vowing to give him a much-deserved raise when this was all over.

When Mac still didn't pick up after a second and then a third call, Will couldn't take it anymore.

ooo

Twenty minutes and one harrowing cab ride later, Will found himself standing helplessly between the doors of Mackenzie's apartment building, foolishly jabbing at her doorbell over and over again, praying that this time she would answer.

He knew he was being ridiculous, knew Mac would kill him for spending literally the entire day obsessing over this, but he couldn't have cared less.

_I'm sorry,_ he told her in his head, _but you should have thought of that when you disappeared without a word. You know me – how did you _think_ I was going to react?_

Mackenzie was the captain of their little ship, there was no doubt about that. They all relied on her, but he, in particular, _needed_ her guidance. Look at him, not even a day without her and he was rudderless, adrift, entirely lost at sea. He would never survive without her.

He was seriously contemplating trying to break down the door with his bare hands when a timid voice spoke up from behind him.

"I don't think she's home."

Will whirled around, coming face to face with a young woman Will vaguely recognized as one of Mackenzie's neighbours. "_What_?" he demanded, forcing himself not to shout, not to frighten or blame this innocent bystander. "Where is she?"

"No idea," she shrugged, looking genuinely concerned and regretful. "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning – we leave for work at the same time. But she had an overnight bag with her, so I didn't expect to see her for a couple days anyway."

Feeling slightly lightheaded, Will thanked her, and watched her make her way into the building before sinking, hollowly, to the floor.

_She's not here_? Will thought blankly. _But where could she be? Stupid, stupid, stupid, _he muttered to himself._ She said she was taking a vacation, didn't she? And when have you ever known her to spend her holidays sitting around at home? Why didn't you think to ask her where she was going?_

He pulled out his phone for the thousandth time that day. This time, when there was no response, he threw caution to the wind and left a message. "Mac, you're scaring me," Will admitted, trying not to cry. "Where _are_ you?"

Staring down at his silent phone as he struggled to figure out where to go from here, Will scrolled through his list of contacts, hesitating for a moment when he reached Charlie's name, but then he kept going. It still hurt too much, the idea that Mac had trusted Charlie with her secret, but she hadn't trusted him. No, he couldn't reach out to Charlie. Not yet.

At last, Jim's name came up on his phone, and Will dialed his number without another thought. He and Mac had always been close. Maybe he could help.

"Will?" Jim asked, sounding tired and a little apprehensive to be receiving a call this late at night from his irascible boss.

"Did Mackenzie say anything to you about where she was going?" Will asked him, getting straight to the point.

"No…" Jim said slowly. "I mean, I love Mac, we're friends, but she's also my boss. When she asks me to fill in for her and doesn't volunteer any more information, I can't exactly press her on it, you know?"

"I know," Will sighed, and then cursed softly, raking his hand through his hair in desperation. "Thanks, Jim. Sorry for bothering you."

"Will?" Jim said, before Will could hang up. "Have you tried calling her parents? Mac talks to her Dad every day. Even when we were in the Middle East. Maybe they know something?"

"Thanks, Jim," Will said again, more heartfelt this time. It had been so long since he'd seen or spoken to the McHales, and in his panic, he had somehow overlooked the close bond they shared with their only child.

Hanging up, Will's fingers ghosted over the keys, tempted, for the first time in years, to dial the number of Edward and Jean McHale. He quickly quashed the idea, however, when he realized that it was past 3:00 in the morning in England, far too late to be calling Mackenzie's parents out of the blue. This call would have to wait until morning.

ooo

That night, Will dreamed that he was lost in the middle of a desert, surrounded by sand dunes and tumbleweeds, his staff scattered around him with their laptops, their headsets, their cameras. A mountain of paperwork flew up off the desks and swirled into a vortex.

But one person – one _crucial_ person – was missing.

The blazing sun beating down on his head, his mouth growing more parched by the second, Will scoured the barren landscape for Mackenzie, but she remained always just out of his reach. Every time he caught sight of that teal blouse out of the corner of his eye, she would disappear mysteriously over a dune, or he tripped climbing up the rocky path after her. His eyes and throat stung from the blowing sand.

He awoke, panting, the next morning, as if he had run a marathon in his sleep.

Before his eyes were even properly open, Will reached for his phone and dialed Mackenzie's numbers, both of them, though he knew better by now than to expect an answer.

This morning he also made a third call, dialing the once-familiar number from memory, before he could change his mind. He didn't want to disturb them, didn't want to alarm them unnecessarily, but he was rapidly running out of other options.

"McHale residence."

"Mr. McHale, it's Will McAvoy," he said, his mouth bone-dry.

"William!" came Mackenzie's father's voice, after a slight pause. "This is a surprise. What can I do for you, young man?"

"Is Mackenzie staying with you, sir?" Will asked, getting right to the point, far too tired to observe the proper social niceties. "She's taking a vacation from the show, but she hasn't been taking my calls and I don't even know where she is. Have you heard from her?"

It seemed an eternity before he responded, an odd, heavy sort of hesitation, palpable even across an ocean and over the phone. "I'm afraid I can't help you, William," he said at last. "We've hardly seen Mackenzie since she took the job at ACN."

"I know, but—"

There was a break in their connection. "William, I'm sorry, but I'm getting a call on the other line."

Letting out a loud, frustrated sigh, Will hung up, his tired, pounding head resting in his hands. His stomach writhing into angry knots, he made one last phone call.

"Charlie? We need to talk."

ooo

By the time Charlie joined him in his office later that morning, Will was anxiously pacing the floor, ready to jump out of his skin at the slightest provocation.

"Where Is. Mackenzie?" Will snapped the second Charlie closed the door behind him, not even giving the older man a moment to sit down.

Charlie didn't flinch in the face of Will's ire, merely raising an eyebrow. "I don't know any more than you do, Will," he said gently. "I was hoping you could fill me in."

"What do you mean? I saw her with you," Will insisted, the memory of them sneaking into the elevator engrained in his mind along with so many other painful images. "Two weeks ago I saw the two of you sneaking off for a secret meeting, and the next thing I know, she tells me she's taking a month off."

Charlie's brow furrowed deeper still. "She didn't tell you that that part was a compromise? Will, she tried to give me her notice."

"WHAT?" Will erupted, his eyes flashing dangerously.

"I didn't take it," Charlie hurried to explain. "It was so sudden, and she wouldn't give me a reason, so I made her a deal. She would take a month off, and when she came back, if she still wanted to quit, then I'd accept it, but not before." He paused. "I was hoping you could talk her out of it in the meantime – I had no idea she didn't tell you."

"She didn't," Will said softly, wearily. All at once, al the rage that had been sustaining him leaked from him a balloon, and he had to lean against his desk for support. If Charlie didn't know where Mac was, then who did?

"I just don't get it, Charlie," Will said dejectedly. "Mac's always been flighty, but when she signs on for something, she sees it through. She's never done anything like this before."

"Well, she did once," Charlie offered, eying Will cautiously.

"What? When?" Will demanded.

"When she quit in 2007 and went to Atlanta," Charlie said quietly. "The way you've been on the warpath lately, I half-wondered whether something happened between the two of you."

But the lost, miserable look on Will's face, like that of a sad, lonely little boy, told Charlie everything he needed to know.

"Want me to make some calls?" Charlie asked softly, laying a comforting hand on Will's shoulder.

Will shook his head, too afraid that if he tried to speak, he would start to cry.

"Go home, Will," Charlie said. "You're not going on tonight."

When Charlie left the room, Will sank wearily into the nearest chair, his head cradled in his hands, and this time he really did let the tears fall, half a dozen emotions coursing through him all at once.

Relief warred with guilt – these weeks of anger at Charlie had been entirely unwarranted. Mac hadn't confided in him after all.

Blinding terror – he was no closer to tracking Mac down than he had been two days ago, and he had no idea where to look next.

More than anything else, though, he cried over Charlie. He had been so sure that Charlie would have all the answers – he usually did – and the discovery that he could not help him now was earth-shattering for Will, filling him with a deep and overwhelming sadness.

It felt like the day, back in kindergarten, when he had learned for the first time that his family was not like other families, that other fathers would go to the ends of the earth for their sons. The farthest Will's father would ever go for him was the tool-shed, to fetch the paddle that was his instrument of choice.

Now, like then, Will was on his own.

ooo

Will knew that there was no hope of sleep coming for him at all that night, so he took a bottle of beer from the fridge and brought it out onto the balcony, taking long swigs and gazing out at the bright lights of the city for hours as he tried to clear his foggy head.

In spite of himself, Will's exhaustion began to catch up with him then, and his eyes drifted shut, his mind swirling with the conversations he'd had over the last few days.

_Will, she tried to give me her notice … The way you've been on the warpath lately, I half-wondered whether something happened between the two of you._

… _she had an overnight bag with her …_

_Have you tried calling her parents? Mac talks to her Dad every day ... Maybe they know something?_

But no, even Mackenzie's own father had not known where she was.

At that thought, Will's drowsy eyes shot back open at once. Because that _wasn't_ what her father had said at all, was it? What he said was that they had hardly seen her in two years, _not_ that they hadn't spoken to her recently, _not_ that they didn't know where she had gone. If they hadn't heard from her in days, they would be just as frantic as Will was now, but Mr. McHale had sounded perfectly calm on the phone.

As if he knew _exactly_ where his daughter was.

With a sudden, absolute certainty, Will sprang into action.

"Charlie?" he barked into the phone, though it was well after midnight by this time. "Find someone to cover for me tonight. I think I know where she is."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Thanks for reading, guys! And a huge thanks to Ash and Steph for helping me figure out a few things in this chapter. Steph assures me that I'm okay to save the next two pages for chapter 3, so if the suspense is killing you, you can blame her! ;)

I really hope you'll leave a review and let me know what you think! (But again, if you do think you know where this is going, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PM me with your guess). It's been so exciting seeing so many new people posting stories in this fandom these last couple weeks, as well as those of us who have been around from the beginning.

And for those of you who don't know about it, I urge you to check out the very long list of prompts in our Ficathon on Livejournal, and fill one, or leave a prompt of your own!


	3. Chapter 3

The next several hours passed entirely in a haze.

Will booked himself on the earliest, fastest flight from New York to London that money could buy, boarding at some absurd hour of the morning, long before any sane person would reasonably be awake. He knew that he should sleep during the journey, but he was far too keyed up to do anything other than stare straight ahead of him, his mind racing. He fidgeted impatiently in his chair, feeling as though the miles were crawling by at less than half the speed they should have been.

When the plane landed, Will rented a car and drove, blurrily, through the English countryside, his head pounding unbearably with jet lag. He had been awake for more than 24 hours straight by this time, and every cell in his body was screaming with fatigue, but Will pushed doggedly on. He was so close. Soon, very soon now, he was finally going to get some answers, no matter what he had to do to get them.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon, when Will's rental car was pulling up in the long driveway of the McHale family estate, that Will experienced a sudden, crippling pang of doubt, so strong that he almost keeled over the steering wheel.

_What if Mac _isn't_ here?_ he wondered, suddenly feeling sick. _What if they truly don't know where she is?_

Shuddering violently, Will shook his head, trying to banish the unacceptable, poisonous thought from his mind. Squaring his shoulders, he marched determinedly up to the house. Her parents had to know where Mac was. They just _had_ to.

The McHales lived in an old manor house in the north of England. The house itself was not enormous, but the estate was so vast and secluded that it even held its own large, private lake. It was the warmest spring England had seen in years, and on any other day, Will would have paused for a moment to take in the beauty and grandeur of it all, but today it was all he could do to keep himself together and remain upright.

He rang the doorbell urgently, trying not to think about the last time he and Mackenzie had visited this place – how he had been carrying that engagement ring around with him even then.

Mackenzie's mother's eyes widened dramatically when she saw him, but she let him in at once, showing him into the sunny sitting room at the front of the house before going in search of her husband.

While he waited, Will nervously ran his hands through his hair and tried to dry his clammy palms on his pants. He wished, now, that he had put more thought into his appearance, wished that he didn't look so frantic and bedraggled, even if that was precisely how he felt. Even now, as desperate and sick with fear as he was, he cared desperately what Mackenzie's parents thought of him, and wanted so badly to make a good impression.

Even on his very best days, Will had always felt thoroughly out of place upon first arriving at the McHale family home. Who was he, some working-class American from a hick-town in the Midwest, to think for even a moment that he was good enough for their daughter?

Knowing precisely how he felt, Mackenzie's parents were always quick to reassure him and put him at ease, treating him as if he were their own son, something he appreciated more than anything.

Only, not this time. Today, something felt markedly different about the reception he received from them, from the moment he entered the house. He watched the wary, cautious way they eyed each other, as though they were trying to find a polite way to order him from their home. His stomach sank in despair.

"I'm sorry that you've taken the trouble to come all this way, William," Mr. McHale said at last, "but as I told you yesterday—"

"Please," Will begged, a little shocked at his audacity for rudely interrupting this man, the man he respected most in the entire world. "_Please_," he repeated desperately, a little softer. "I don't know what's going on. I don't know where she is or why she's avoiding me. I don't know what I did to make her run away, but I _know_ you know where she is."

Mr. McHale opened his mouth to respond, but now that the words had begun tumbling from Will's mouth, he couldn't stem the flow of them even if he had wanted to.

"I let her run away once without fighting for her, and I will regret that decision until the day I die," Will entreated fervently. "I'm not going to do that again. _Please_. Will you help me?"

As Will watched, praying harder than he had ever prayed in his life, the McHales conducted an entire silent conversation, just with their eyes. If he hadn't been so desperate and miserable and tired, it would have made him smile, realizing that he and Mac frequently did exactly the same thing in front of the staff. It must be just as maddening for them as it was for him right now.

At last, they broke their connection, Mrs. McHale sighing uncertainly.

"Come with me, son," Mr. McHale murmured, standing, and guiding Will from the room, one hand resting on his shoulder.

For hours, whenever Will had imagined this moment, he had had visions of being led up the stairs, up to Mackenzie's old bedroom, perhaps, and so he was thoroughly bewildered when her father turned in exactly the opposite direction, leading him down the long hall, past the library, and out the back of the house.

Mr. McHale walked in silence, just ahead of him, and a million questions bubbled up inside of Will, but he managed to swallow them all, overwhelmed with relief.

Relief that he hadn't been tossed unceremoniously from the house.

Relief that now, at last, the situation was squarely in somebody else's hands.

Relief that soon, very soon now, he would be able to speak with Mackenzie, and this whole mystery and misunderstanding could be put to rest.

Still, Will's confusion only grew as he trailed after Mackenzie's father, following him alongside the edge of the woods and across the grass, until they had almost reached the water's edge.

As Will watched in consternation, Mr. McHale approached the small wooden dock, and from one of its posts, he slipped a large bronze handbell. Rolling up his sleeves, the older man kneeled in the grass and extended his arm deep into the water, ringing the bell four times, loudly. Then he stood, fixed his sleeves, and replaced the bell on its post, peering calmly out over the water as if he were watching, waiting for something.

Light-headed now, Will wondered absently if he might be dreaming, because nothing about this moment was making any sense whatsoever. He waited as long as he could, staring out at the lake himself for a time, though he had absolutely no idea what he could be looking for. Eventually, however, his head pounding, his anxiety and exhaustion catching up with him all in a rush, Will turned away from the waves, and focused his attention on Mackenzie's father.

"Mr. McHale, _please_, what's going on?" he begged tiredly, when he could hold back his questions no longer.

Without even turning to look at him, Mr. McHale held his finger to his lips, but before Will could say another word, there came a little splashing sound nearby, and Will heard a voice he would have recognized anywhere. His head jerked around to locate its source.

"Dad?" Mackenzie asked in a panic. "What's wrong? Is it Mum? Is she—"

"Mackie," Mr. McHale interrupted quietly, kneeling down again, a strange, apologetic tone in his voice as he leaned over the water, "Will's here."

There was the briefest of pauses, and then Will heard a strangled, keening cry, the sound slicing straight through his heart. If he had been looking at her face, he would have seen a kind of anguish he had never before seen on those features, and would _pay_ never to have to see again.

But in the seconds before Will lost consciousness, he wasn't looking at Mackenzie's face.

He was staring at her long, silver-green tail.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Well, moment of truth … have I completely lost you guys?

I'm sure this isn't what any of you were expecting … but I did warn some of you that this one was going to be EXTREMELY AU, okay?

Thanks so much to all of you for reading! I'm really excited/nervous to hear what you guys think of this chapter, so I hope you'll all leave me a review!


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